>>5158657>>5158710>>5159517>>5159524"Kebab sounds good." You declare breaking the tie and swinging the vote. You all ascend back onto the main street, the busy packed roadways were now almost completely empty. A few people were out and about, the odd clubber heading home or early bird flying out to work. The snow was falling softer now, a good inch or two crunching with the impact under your boots as you followed the senior pilot. The sky was lighter, the dark clashing with light was waning as the sky was becoming a dull grey, the city light pollution competing with the coming sun. You knew it was still an hour or so out, but it was getting there. You ride the tram, arms around the shoulders of the gamma brothers. The car you got on had plenty of space, you all find a seats. Your lazy eyes were drawn to the world as it snapped passed, the outside buildings and adverts for things you had never owned.
You breath softly, content to sit and enjoy the ambience. The boys were discussing sports, Suranovich was putting the moves on the other pilot. You blink and the world sways, stumbling from the tram and towards your destination. Down thin walkways between colossal buildings you exit out into and large alcove. A small series of shops crowd the space. In the center is a garden, grass and flowers kept in neat order. Two benches rest on either end, a like grove within the metallic maze. Entering one of the small buildings. The first smell that hits you is roasted meats and spices, along with faint trail of incense. A burly tanned man leans on the counter as your small unit bungles their way inside. He seemed unamused by the group, dark wood furniture lines the cozy space inside.
A young woman sits in the back corner reading a book, she had a large steaming mug. Two older gentleman with the same shade of skin were playing a game with small wooden objects. They all look at your squad. The walls are painted pale, mostly plastered with flags you didn't recognize and old newspapers trapped within picture frames. "You bring me more Eskie dogs to feed Fransceza?" His accent was thick, you couldn't place it. The large man behind the counter asked, you could make out large logs of what you assumed was ground and seasoned meat. They were rotating under the hot orange glow, grease tricked down giving the spit a glistening appearance. You drop into a seat, as francheska spoke up. "Qadir. They are my friends and hungry ones. Hungry enough to pay for your slop." The dark skinned man seemed not to care, his eyes settling on you, hastily looking away. You instead focused on the TV mounted in the corner.
